He guided me down the narrow, winding stairs into the bowels of the abysmal caverns where rats ran freely and the stone floors were awash with slime. Coughing and moaning oozed from hidden chambers as we made our way through this hell that could only be described as the most horrendous nightmare a man could imagine. The jailor pointed to a dark, seeping, windowless cell, barely six feet square and five feet high, and with the lantern, I searched every inch of the room on my hands and knees until, in a corner; I found something scratched on the stone wall: Once there was a little tree. It had a special place all to itself in a beautiful forest, and with the warm winds and gentle rains; the seedling began to grow. Soon, a few small leaves appeared, and the little tree spent the long summer days opening itself to the sun. For some reason, however, growing straight and tall in this wonderful sunny spot was not enough; something was missing. The seedling was lonely and needed friends. Before long, other little trees gathered round, and the little tree was finally happy. The other little trees began to grow, tall and sturdy, but the poor little seedling, now covered by their shade, could hardly grow at all. This didn’t matter, however, because the little tree’s only concern was its friends, and their happiness. Winters came, followed by springs, and time stood still yet somehow moved, as the little tree, just a few feet tall, found itself surrounded by giant trees. They were so tall that the little tree could barely see their tops, and sadly, it lost touch with them, but was happy nonetheless because its friends had grown so big and strong. One day, years later, one of the large trees that was now old and diseased fell over and crushed the little tree. The little tree’s heart was broken, but not because it now lay under a huge, dead log, but because its old friend had died and could no longer feel the wind through its branches and the sun on its leaves; things that the little tree could remember from long ago. And in thinking about its friend, the little tree forgot all about itself. One of its tiny leaves, however, could be seen peeking out from under the massive log that had fallen on it because as the old tree fell, a window in the canopy of the forest opened up. And for the first time since it was a small seedling, the little tree felt the wonderful warmth of the sun as it touched its solitary leaf. The years continued to pass, as they do, and another tree fell, then another, and another until the little tree was alone again. In time, it was able to grow out from under its fallen friend, and although it was now twisted and deformed because of its efforts, it blamed nobody, and was at peace with itself and the forest. The little tree could never see beyond its small, special home in the wilderness, but somehow it became very wise. It knew the feeling of joy; the joy of the sun and of the wind, and it learned how to accept darkness. It understood, as well, that things sometimes happen beyond our control, and more importantly, that love can only happen beyond our control. It could see that small trees are criticized at times for not living up to what others perceive as their potential of becoming large trees, and how, sadly, they might then try very hard to become something they can never be, not seeing the beauty of what they already are. It could see as well that within the insignificance of little trees is found the greatness of large trees, but whether they were great or small, the little tree loved them all. It never grew very big, living out its life reaching toward the light. Then, one beautiful, spring morning . . . it died - so quietly and peacefully that the forest never noticed. (I forgive you, my prince.) As I read the words, I began to feel in my heart what the blacksmith must have felt as he painstakingly chiseled each word, each sentence in stone. And suddenly, the words on that wall pierced my very soul as my heart broke open for the first time in my life. I was overcome; I wept openly, and the jailor held me in his arms as if I were a child. I sobbed uncontrollably as the sequence of events over the last fourteen years took its justifiable toll. Visions scorched my brain of the innocent men I ruthlessly killed on the battlefield, soldiers who were only defending their families from a brutal invader. I could hear their death gurgles, see their eyes glaze over, feel my adrenalin rushes, feel the power I held over life and death . . ., and feel the wild anticipation toward the next kill. All of this smashed into my consciousness, coming as a terrible shock. My sobbing eventually subsided, and I became quiet, emptied out. All that I could do was stare at the wall. I remember hearing the lantern burning with its subtle hiss, and water trickling somewhere in this hellhole, and then, unexpectedly, my mind went blank. I don’t know how long I remained in this state, but when I finally came around and became aware of my surroundings again, the first thing I noticed was the jailor, keeping careful watch over me. And I felt an overwhelming affection for this old friend. “Wait here until morning,” I said. “Under my authority, you will at that time release every prisoner in the dungeons and call back my troops from the field. Every prisoner, is to be released; do you hear me?” I put my hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I will never forget your being with me now; I promise you that.” Night was falling as I made my way to the stables. I was in a dream-state; seemingly floating instead of walking. The royal grooms and stablemen were gathered around Conqueror, not daring to touch him without my orders, even though the mighty horse was shaking and drenched in sweat from his enormous effort to carry me to my dying father. “Go home,” I quietly ordered. After the grooms bowed and backed out of the stable, I began removing the horse’s heavy battle armor myself. “One more journey, my friend.” I whispered in Conqueror’s ear, “Only one more, I promise.” I fed him, and then brushed him as carefully as a mother would brush her child’s precious hair; other than the jailor, he was my only friend in the world. I placed the brush back on its shelf, and sat on the straw floor for a long time, gazing at the door in silence. I stood up and removed my sword, scabbard, and my Royal battle garments, standing naked before an old robe draped on a peg in the corner of the stall. Without looking back I quietly led my charger out of the stables, slipping inconspicuously across the drawbridge I had no sandals, no possessions; I was empty, as I rode Conqueror bareback into the forest, wearing only my borrowed, stableman’s robe. I had to find my key to happiness. It was the only thing that could save me from myself. (To be continued) E. Raymond Rock of Fort Myers, Florida is cofounder and principal teacher at the Southwest Florida Insight Center, .SouthwestFloridaInsightCenter.com His twenty-nine years of meditation experience has taken him across four continents, including two stopovers in Thailand where he practiced in the remote northeast forests as an ordained Theravada Buddhist monk. His book, A Year to Enlightenment (Career Press/New Page Books) is now available at major bookstores and online retailers. Visit .AYearToEnlightenment.com
